Lights Will Guide You Home (and ignite your bones)
by ChasetheWindTouchtheSky
Summary: Inspired by a Tumblr Post: The pack takes a trip to the beach. Stiles notices Derek far away and goes to keep the man company. Perhaps the two have more in common than either realized. One-Shot. Bromance.


**Hello! I missed you all!**

**This is inspired by a Tumblr post that I saw today, where someone wished there was a fic about a pack trip to the beach, where Stiles notices Derek not by the bonfire and they talk, both realizing they're not as big of assholes as each other thought. I can't find the OP for the idea – if you are, let me know and I can credit you! – but I wanted to write something and it seemed like a sweet idea. So I attempted fluff!**

**…****and got angst.**

**Because I have no idea how to fluff.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

Lights Will Guide You Home (and ignite your bones)

_By Chase-the-Wind-Touch-the-Sky_

It's odd because it'd been Derek's idea in the first place.

After tumultuous high school years of horror that would haunt the teenagers of Beacon Hills for the rest of their lives, one day Derek decided to shock everyone and announce that they should all spend a day at the beach. Stiles thinks that needs repeating. Derek Hale. Thinks. They should spend the day…

…at the beach.

To be honest, Stiles can't imagine Derek Hale without a leather jacket, even though he rarely clads himself in leather anymore. Apparently Stiles' imagination is wild enough to project leather onto the man, even though his recent wardrobe choices could only be described as soft. Stiles isn't sure when he went from fearing the main to rolling his eyes at his ridiculous threats, but he assumed that was when he transitioned from leather to soft Henley's that a kitten would probably snuggle up against.

Now Stiles is picturing Derek Hale snuggled by kittens.

He snorts, drawing attention from said man, who is loading up the Jeep with a cooler. He's wearing comfortable-looking clothes – but God forbid he actually wears _shorts _at the _beach_ – his edges dulled down by time and his eyebrows just as expressive, but no longer terrifying. In fact, Derek's raising them at this exact minute at Stiles like he's trying to be ferocious, but he really just looks like a puppy (Stiles bites his tongue from pointing this out, mainly because 'God Stiles, will you put a moratorium on all the dog jokes already?!').

Stiles shrugs. "Picturing you snuggled by kittens. Naturally." He states as if it were obvious, but judging by the fierce shade of red Derek's now sporting, perhaps he shouldn't have said anything at all.

"Well, stop it." He finally manages once the intense man-twitch of his jaw subsides.

"Why?" Stiles exclaims. "It's a free country."

"Because I said so, Stiles."

"If I had a dollar for every time your reasoning was 'because I said so,' I'd be able to pay for the MRI from the Nogitsune time!"

Before the words came out of his mouth, there was like a warning siren flashing in his brain. One that said something along the lines of 'You idiot, stop! You're about to say something that will crush you and everyone around you!' Of course, his asshole brain isn't quick enough and the words tumble out. And like it's a switch in his brain, his skin feels cold and he freezes.

Derek seems to notice the second it happens because the anger disappears from the lines of his face and his expression changes to something that Stiles could only describe as empathetic. Because if Stiles had to give Derek credit for one thing, it was his incredible ability to not look pitying – a look that Stiles decided if he never received again, he'd consider himself a successful man.

Derek opens his mouth to say something – what, Stiles can't fathom for the life of him because when has Derek Hale ever openly expressed feelings? – but is cut off when Scott claps a hand on Stiles' back. "Ready to go?" Scott asks, a wide grin on his face.

Derek recovers from whatever emotional moment they were about to have and smiles. Warm, inviting. It's nice, actually, Stiles can't help but muse. He has a face made for smiling, which makes his life all the more tragic because there simply isn't enough reason for him to do so. "Yeah, just loaded up the last cooler. Who's driving with me?"

Scott peers around as his pack flits around, counting heads. "Well, Kira, me, and Lydia are with Stiles. Which leaves you with Liam, Malia, Danny, and Mason."

Stiles chuckles, unable to stop himself. "Dude," he breathes.

"What?" Scott asks, puzzled.

"You gave him the most awkward car ride _ever_." Stiles laughs again, unable to stop himself.

Derek rolls eyes, but Stiles knows he secretly agrees. Not that Broody McBrooderson would ever say something, but he totally agrees. And, just because Stiles is a bit of an asshole like that, he smacks Derek on the back and says, "Have a pleasant car ride, Cousin Miguel."

_That_ makes Derek a little more snarly. "I will rip your throat out… with my teeth."

"Heard that one before, big guy." Stiles says, waving his hand carelessly.

"Okay, I am so lost." Scott says, frowning. "Should we do a different set-up?"

"No, it's fine, Scott." Derek huffs. "Stiles is just an asshole."

"And in other news, water is wet," Lydia says, walking up to them with that look on her face that clearly states if they don't start moving, she'll personally smack each of them. "And this shocking revelation is stopping us because..?"

Now Derek and Stiles may not agree on much – see: nothing at all – but the terror of Lydia Martin they find themselves in the same camp. Which is why without so much as a cursory sassy remark, the two climb into the driver's seat of their cars and head out.

All in all, Stiles has to say it was a great idea. He can't remember the last time he saw everyone so relaxed. Derek even revealed he had swim trunks on underneath those pants – which Stiles snapped a few photos of because Derek Hale in _shorts_ – and Stiles watched from the beach as people flitted around in the water.

He rubs his hands together because the chill of the Nogitsune never really left and he didn't want to tempt fate by jumping into the ocean and finishing the demon's job of freezing him to death. Well, mostly. There was a bit of darkness in the back of his mind that suggested it may be a good idea, but he writes it off as the effect of a stupid tree who took his life to become active again. Another reason to never explore nature. Nature is a dick.

So when the sun settles and the pack gathers around a bonfire, Stiles is grateful at how easy smiling is. He always took that for granted because really, who really cares about smiling until it's almost impossible to do so? Kira and Scott are being disgustingly adorable while Lydia tries to explain to Malia for the tenth time why you can't just eat the wildlife at the beach without a permit. Liam and Mason are doing… whatever Liam and Mason do, while Danny lies on the beach and looks at the stars. But Derek?

He's not there.

Stiles peers around, trying to find the older wolf, but to no avail.

But then he spots him, a few yards away from the fire, his gaze never leaving the group of them, but far enough away to be a little bit creepy.

Stiles really should be more surprised than he actually is.

So he hauls his ass up from the fire – dammit, it was warm and now the world was so cold, just like it usually was – and sits himself next to the man. Derek doesn't move, but he does turn to eye Stiles in surprise which, first of all, is a little offensive because he's not _that_ much of an asshole.

The two of them sit in silence for a bit. In the past, Stiles would feel the need to fill up this space – fill up this uncomfortable silence with words and facts. But that was pre-werewolf Stiles, pre-_Nogitsune _Stiles. Post-Nogitsune Stiles didn't mind the silence as much. In fact, it wasn't uncomfortable at all. He feels just as content sitting off to the side not saying anything than he does with the group.

Which is why it's surprising that Derek's the first to speak when Stiles shivers at the cold, hugging himself in a desperate effort to keep whatever remaining heat he has within him. "You should go back to the fire," Derek says softly, as if he doesn't really mean it, but feels required to say so.

"S'not so bad," Stiles replies. "I'm kinda used to it by now."

"Still?" Derek asks.

That's when Stiles has to look at him.

Because he thought he was doing a good job at hiding everything. A good job at hiding all the little ways that the Nogistune ruined him. Broke him. Hiding the shivers, the lack of appetite. But when Derek doesn't change his expression, he's forced to face the fact that maybe he's not as good of an actor than he'd hoped.

"Yeah," he responds, because what's the use of lying, really?

"You should see someone about it if it's still a problem," Derek continues, his voice gentle, but firm.

"And say what?" Stiles laughs, but it's empty. "I was possessed and now can't get warm?"

"Deaton, then. You shouldn't have to live with it."

"I kinda do, man. After… everything."

Because there it was: the truth of the matter. It reminded Stiles of how quick everything can change. How, in an instant, things can go from bad to worse. That people can die, that the good die you, and every cliché that's in about the two million songs of heartbreak in this world. He sighs and looks at the sand, digging his toes into it. It only makes him colder.

Derek peers at him. "I suppose it'd be pointless to tell you that none of it was your fault."

Stiles shrugs. He doesn't get inherently angry with those comments anymore like he used to – because it _was_ his fault and stop trivializing Allison's death by saying it wasn't – but it doesn't necessarily mean he believes them either. "I dunno."

Derek nods, like he gets it, and it occurs to Stiles that he does.

"Why are you all the way out here anyway?" Stiles asks, desperate for a change in discussion topic. "I thought we moved past the creepy staring thing a while ago."

Derek laughs and it's warm and lively. "I'm really not a big fan of fire."

Stiles' stomach drops and he turns to Derek, wild-eyed. "Oh God," he breathes, suddenly frantic. "We can put it out, let me just—"

He scrambles to his feet, tripping over sand or something stupid, but falls not because his graceless nature, but because of Derek pulling him back down. "No." Derek states. "Don't do that."

Stiles gapes at him. "But—"

"It's not like I can avoid fire for the rest of my life. And I'd rather be around it with people I trust in a controlled setting."

Stiles frowns. "You trust us?"

Derek looks hurt. "Do you not trust me?"

"Of course I do," Stiles snorts like it's a preposterous thought, because really, it is. "Don't be stupid."

"Well then, there's you answer."

Stiles can't help but be impressed with themselves.

"You know, Laura used to love things like this." Derek says, gazing at the fire with a fond look in his eye.

Stiles freezes. He cannot think of a time in the entirety that he knew this man of him offering up information about his family voluntarily. He knows he probably looks like he's about to internally combust, but he can't _help_ it because _feelings_. "Yeah?" Stiles asks and it absolutely does _not_ sound like a squeak.

"Yeah," Derek muses, politely ignoring Stiles' most recent act of unmanliness. "She said that the beach was the best place to look at the stars because the ocean has no lights. I always argued with her that the forest was better because you couldn't see the lights from the coast, but we never agreed. She'd drag our family out here every once and a while. If you go that way," he points down the beach. "there's a bench that has all our initials on it. Even Mom's."

Stiles simply doesn't handle situations with tact because he blurts out, "Is that why you brought us here?"

Damn, fucking, useless, annoying brain.

But Derek doesn't seem to take it wrong. "A little, I guess. I've always wanted to come back here, but I never wanted to do it alone, to be honest."

"Why didn't you say something?" Stiles asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Because this feels intimate and special and for some reason, he doesn't want the usual bravado of his voice breaking whatever spell Derek's under and stop him from continuing. "We would've gone with you."

"I know," he says, eyes downcast. "I know that. But it seemed… silly, considering all the troubles we have in Beacon Hills."

"You're allowed to want things for yourself, Derek." Stiles says quietly, hoping that every ounce of sincerity that he feels is coming through. "You know that, right?"

Derek smiles. There it is. He really does have a face for smiling. "You know that you don't have to carry around the Nogitsune's burden, right?"

Stiles snorts. "Touché, Sourwolf. Touché."

Stiles waits for the 'Stop calling me that' remark, but it never comes.

Instead, the two look out at the bonfire, where there's boisterous laughter. The pack broke out the s'mores makings and Liam's currently throwing marshmallows as Scott and there's a certain sense of calm from all the ruckus. Stiles smiles – like really _smiles_ – and sighs contentedly. "Do you think we'll ever catch a break?" He asks seriously. "Do you think the universe might be done with us, at least for a little while?"

Derek grows still at his side, the carefree grin gone. Stiles feels a little bad about that, but if he can't share these dark moments with Derek, he's not entirely sure who he can. Because Scott, God love him, is filled with sunshine and hope and confidence in the good of people. Stiles, well… Stiles calls himself a realist, but at this point in his life, it may be tilting toward 'pessimist.' And he draws comfort from someone like Derek who gets things that not many people seems to. "I don't know." Derek replies, his words distant. "I hope so."

"Me too," Stiles says, but he's unsure if he's allowed to wish for something like that, considering all he's done.

He buries his nose into his forearms, drawing his knees to his chest. Absently drawing figures in the sand, Stiles peeks at Derek, who is staring at him. He doesn't flinch.

Without thinking, because thinking would probably make him talk himself out of it, Stiles states, "I don't know how to exist sometimes."

Derek's eyes widen a bit, but he doesn't say anything. His eyebrows look like they're suggesting he continue. That, or Derek is about to wolf out and they're going to disappear.

"I just," Stiles sighs, closing his eyes. "I don't know how to… be a part of this world. It's like this – everyone's over there and I'm over here, detached. Like they are in color and I'm kinda—"

"—gray." Derek finishes, looking at the laughing group of teens. "Like you're monochromatic in a world of saturation."

"Yeah?" Stiles asks, because he needs _someone_ to get it and Derek looks like he does.

"Yeah." Derek says. "How long?"

Stiles thinks about it. "I want to say the Nogitsune, but I think that'd be lying. No, I know that'd be lying. For a while. I think it may go all the way back to when my mom died. I just… never quite figured out how to exist in a world where she wasn't in it. I thought I'd learn and I'd be able to get it back, but I never really did. And instead I had to pretend. But the Nogitsune just made it so I couldn't pretend anymore."

"Losing people, it changes you." Derek agrees. "It makes the world a little dim. It's natural to react that way."

"I feel like the only one," Stiles admits. "I'm the only one who can't cope. Who can't figure out how to move on."

"I suppose that's why loneliness is so very powerful. And why manipulative people go after those who've experienced loss. Because all someone has to do is confirm what you already fear."

"What's that?"

"That you are alone in this world." Derek says. "That no one understands your feelings and doesn't even want to try."

Stiles can't help but bury his face in his arms, trying not to show how right Derek is.

"It's not true, though." Derek continues. "People can say it all they want, it doesn't make it true. In fact, the fact that they are using that tactic proves it's not. Because they have a point of reference."

Stiles feels a hand on his shoulder, surprising enough for him to look at Derek. "You are not alone, Stiles." He says.

Stiles narrows his eyes, trying to find any source of falsehood in the man. He tries, he really does. But when he comes up empty, Stiles sighs. "Neither are you, man."

The corners of Derek's mouth twitch and he removes his hand.

"Do you like baseball?" Stiles asks, straightening up.

Derek responds via eyebrows.

"Scott hates it and I never have anyone to play with." Stiles continues because Derek's eyebrows aren't stopping him. "Interested?"

Derek ponders this for a moment.

"You know, I'm not sure if I could be seen with a Mets fan. They're kinda crazy."

Stiles opens his mouth to argue because _screw you Derek_, but Derek only laughs over him. "But they are also sometimes very nice."

Stiles shuts his mouth quick enough to hurt, earning his a smirk.

The two look back at the pack, surrounded by fire. But it doesn't look threatening. And one glance at Derek shows Stiles that he feels that way as well. Instead, it simply lights their features, igniting them with a life Stiles can't remember seeing. Firing their bones until Stiles knows that they will all be okay – that perhaps they aren't alone in this world.

And for the first time? He actually believes it.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Please leave a note if you have the time!**


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